


Xenolith

by quodpersortem



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, tripsitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/quodpersortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light crack. Romancing, fluff and banter. This is what happens when I discuss spacecake with . Also, she <i>did</i> want this fic, no matter what she might claim (unlike Shameless, I’ll give her that). Also, I am thanking her for the quick beta she gave the fic. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqFIfQIEwL4">And this is one of the many ways to make spacecake.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Xenolith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [townpariah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/townpariah/gifts).



When he hears the knock on the roof of the playhouse, Mike thinks he is maybe a little slow to reply.

The thing is, he can see that it’s Harvey who’s standing there wearing a pin-striped suit.

“Um, hi,” Mike says, poking his head out of the playhouse. He expects rain, but it’s blocked by the umbrella Harvey is carrying. Harvey just looks down at him, eyebrows raised, so Mike tentatively raises his hand to wave at him.

“Why are you in there?” Harvey asks him.

“It’s raining? I mean, it _is_ raining and I can’t get my suit wet. Because then you would get angry with me. And I don’t keep a spare suit in the office, so.”

“It is a _playhouse_. Playhouses are for children.”

“No, they—not if I am hiding from the rain. Which I am.” Mike nods his head.

Harvey kneels and peers inside the playhouse. Mike sitting huddled-up on the single beam that has been placed inside, meant to serve as bench but by no means comfortable, certainly not for a grown man.

“Goddamn, what’s that smell in there? Have you been—”

“Yes?” Mike says before Harvey can finish his sentence.

“You are—“

“It wasn’t my own idea,” Mike quickly replies, shaking his head.

“No, of course it wasn’t,” Harvey grumbles as he stands up again. “I’ll tell Jessica you’ve gone home sick.”

“I can work!” Mike shouts as Harvey stalks off in the rain, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

-

“I know it isn’t your birthday or anything, but I thought I’d make cake for my colleagues some time.”

Mike puts the plate with a neat slice of cake on Harvey’s desk.

Harvey raises his eyebrow. “And how can I be sure you didn’t _spice_ it up with anything?”

“Donna’s got some too,” Mike smiles. He points in her direction. A similar white saucer with a slice of cake sits on her desk. What Harvey doesn’t know is that Donna is on a diet _which means she’ll probably never even touch the thing_.

“Why would I spike your cake anyway?” Mike asks.

Harvey pauses for a moment, staring at Mike. “You can’t tell me you are _that_ devoted to your job. _Nobody_ makes cake for their boss.”

“And how do you know I don’t bake cakes for _my_ bosses? Maybe I would have baked a lot of cakes, for all the bosses I could’ve had before you. You can’t tell though, can you, because this is my first job involving a real boss.”

Mike gleams.

Harvey huffs and turns to the cake again. It _looks_ deceptively normal. There are no strange green or brown bits visible in the dull yellow, and it doesn’t smell like anything but ordinary cake, either.

“Go ahead,” Mike pushes him.

“If I die it’ll be your fault,” Harvey tells him before he takes a bite.

“You won’t die. I bake well. I wash my hands before I bake.”

“It’s good cake though,” Harvey says, swallowing a mouthful.

“Of course it is. I made it.”

“Whose recipe is it anyway?”

“My grandmother’s. She usually put in some cacao. I didn’t have cacao, otherwise I would’ve put some in.” Mike shrugs. He sits on the couch, staring at Harvey when he finishes eating. It’s unnerving.

“What, why are you still here?” Harvey asks him. “Get back to work.”

“Did someone ever tell you your couch is really comfortable? Like, the super comfortable kind people want as a bed because their actual mattresses aren’t as pleasant as this couch?” Mike tells him.

“You’re changing the subject,” Harvey says.

Mike grins when Harvey raises both eyebrows, looking partly vexed and defeated. “You tricked me. Didn’t you? I can’t—I am going to have to fire you.” And then, “I can’t _believe_ I _fell_ for this, your excuses were abominable—“

“Admit it,” Mike laughs, waving at Donna who looks back at them before shoving her cake into the trash. “You _wanted_ to break office policy at some point or another. Congratulations, because now you have. How does it feel to be me, Harvey? Hah.”

Harvey completely ignores Mike, and tells Donna to connect him to Jessica. “How long does it take until this crap starts working?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Mike says. “Half an hour?”

They hear Jessica’s voice from the loudspeaker. “What is it, Harvey?”

“I don’t know what it is exactly, but it must be last night’s dinner. I spent the last fifteen minutes in the bathroom. Mike can probably cover most of the paperwork overnight.”

“I don’t want to know any details,” Jessica replies. “Please Harvey, just go home. We will manage.”

Harvey looks up at Mike, who seems quite astonished at how easily Harvey can go home.

“She remembers the time I went in feeling sick. The cleaners spent hours getting the bathroom looking clean again and we were understaffed for weeks.”

Mike shudders. “I don’t want to know.”

“You deserve to know, because you gave me this cake. Please tell me you haven’t offered Jessica or Louis—“

“Rachel wanted some,” Mike quickly interrupts him. “I don’t think she wants to talk to me the next couple of weeks though. I may have said something about her weight.”

“You comment on women’s weight?” Harvey sounds surprised.

“Not normally, no. This, however, was for the sake of the company. You would have done the same.”

“And you don’t mind Rachel not talking to you for weeks? I thought you kept running to her to ask for help?”

Harvey gets up and gathers his suit jacket and a couple of files he thinks he might be able to look over once he comes down from whatever Mike’s cake is going to give him.

“Anyway, I need you to come with me.”

“What, why?”

“You’re going handle my _high_.”

“You’re asking me to be your tripsitter,” Mike states. “Just go home, you’ll be fine. Eat when you want to eat, be sure to be near a toilet when you start feeling sick. Which you might. I don’t know, maybe you’ll laugh your way through. You might not even feel anything at all, I haven’t tried this cake.”

“You,” Harvey starts, then closes his mouth again. He grabs Mike’s wrist and drags him out of his office. He’s already starting to sweat a little, his heart rate speeding up as he walks down the corridor, and a general feeling of unease settles in his stomach. Mike makes him stop at his desk to get his briefcase, and then they’re off to grab a cab back to Harvey’s condo.

Mike scowls when they’re in the cab together. “I still don’t understand why you need me here.”

“Primarily to assure myself I won’t do anything stupid, because you will hopefully keep me from doing so. Secondly because this way you _will_ spend your entire night filing paperwork.”

Harvey kicks off his shoes the moment he walks through the door, briefly revels in the feeling of the cracks of the cool wood against his feet, even through his socks, and wonders if that is the cake. He turns to look at Mike, who is mostly, well, _gaping_.

“That’s not going to help me,” Harvey tells him.

“Nothing’s going to _help_ you,” Mike responds, sounding a little breathless as he wanders further into the room. “Just sit down and relax. This place is _fantastic_.”

While Harvey goes to dress into more comfortable clothes, since that is apparently a must according to Mike—even though he showed up at work stoned and in a suit—he can hear Mike putter around the apartment.

He finds Mike sitting on his couch with a beer in his hand. “I thought I’d help myself.” Mike shrugs and Harvey gives him his best death glare.

“You have to go back to work once this _thing_ wears off,” he tells Mike, ignoring how the words seem to come slower than usual, softer. “You can’t have a drink now.”

“I’m not getting paid for this,” Mike retorts, “and besides, one beer never hurt anyone. I’ll drink plenty of water and I’ll be fine tonight. You might want to sit down by the way, the weed’s about to hit you. Don’t worry if you feel a little dizzy, it might happen. It’s just your coordination being a little off as long as you’re high.”

Harvey sighs and lets himself drop on the couch, next to Mike but so far off they aren’t touching. And he is decidedly _not_ thinking about touching, except then he is. Mike is staring back at him, still smiling smugly.

“Don’t say a word,” he warns Mike; then props his legs up the couch and stretches them, so they are touching Mike’s thigh. “And turn on the television.”

“I’m not your slave.” The glare comes in handy once again. “Why do you turn off the TV completely anyway?”

“It saves power,” Harvey says and focuses on the television. Sharks. He’s feeling a little drowsy, thrown off-kilter in general, and not much of what he watches is coming through.

“Music might be better than TV.”

There is no way to argue with Mike this time, and he doesn’t really feel like it either, so without talking Harvey turns off the television and turns on his radio with the remote control that was still laying on the table next to him.

The slow, bluesy music starts playing and Mike gets up to lower the blinds and dim the lights, apparently knowing exactly what Harvey needs right now (and of course he does, he probably used to be stoned half of his days during college).

“I think I’ll be fine now,” Harvey tells Mike once he has turned the television back off. “You can leave, go do that paperwork.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” Mike says, flopping back onto the couch. He leans his head back, so his neck shows above his collar, and Harvey tries desperately not to think about pressing his nose against it. He knows some people get more physical when they’re under influence but thankfully it’s not something alcohol does to him. _Now_ though, he wonders if Mike can give good hugs.

“You want to hug, don’t you?” Mike says suddenly, out of nowhere. Harvey shakes his head, even though he can feel a pull at the corners of his mouth and he really shouldn’t smile. “You _do_ ,” Mike laughs—no, giggles. And Harvey thought he was the only one who got stoned.

“I do not want to hug with you,” he says defiantly but Mike is already shaking his head.

“You want to hug anyone. You would hug Ray if he was around.”

“You hugged Greg, don’t think I didn’t know. I know everything that happens in the office, especially when my associate is involved.”

“I never denied hugging Greg.” Mike shrugs, putting a hand on Harvey’s leg and then rubbing up and down his shin. “I liked hugging Greg.”

“You apparently said he smelt _papery_.” Harvey is smiling now. “Why would you say that, unless you, of course, like paper?”

“I don’t like paper all that much, don’t worry,” Mike scowls. “Paper means paperwork.”

“Paperwork you’ll spend all night sorting.”

“Let’s just, not talk, okay?” Mike says, defiantly holding up his hands as if he wants Harvey to back off. Harvey shrugs and leans back, blinking thoroughly a couple of times as he sighs. Mike is looking at him, and he is staring back, and the idea that this could end very, very badly—well, he doesn’t really care about that.

He puts his legs in Mike’s lap, like he used to at home with his mother. He can feel how Mike shifts, how he half gets up from the couch, dropping Harvey’s legs back onto it.

Mike spreads his arms and promptly drapes himself over Harvey. He wraps his hands around Harvey’s middle as to give him a hug. Harvey is prepared to shove him off, right now, but then the look in Mike’s eyes shifts to something different altogether.

Harvey’s breath hitches a little, and he keeps having to drag his gaze away from Mike’s mouth, the red lips—he could lean in and take what he wants right now, they’re that close. Then he remembers the way Mike looked at him, in the office, right before he sent him home after making Tom Keller part of their clientele.

“Damn,” he whispers, and then Mike is kissing him. Of course, trying to say ‘stop’ doesn’t work.

Their teeth keep clashing, and it is generally a very unflattering kiss that must look like two people eating each other’s faces, but Mike is leaning on him with his full weight and it’s not just that what leaves him a little breathless.

Once they calm down a little, it gets better. More tongue, more lips, less teeth and—god forbid—saliva. (Even a little more would be enough to reinforce Harvey’s belief that Mike secretly, really, is a were-puppy).

Eventually their movements slow down and Mike settles on the couch next to Harvey. “It’s nice isn’t it?” he asks, mumbling into Harvey’s shirt.

“It is,” Harvey agrees, though he means the kissing more than being stoned, because he is under the impression the effects have worn off already.

When he moves to sit up, there is a slight heaviness in his head, like the headache that comes with a mild hangover. He rubs at his temples to relieve the feeling a little. “You should refresh yourself,” he tells Mike. “I’m sure there’s plenty of work to do at the office.”

Mike is still sprawled over the couch, behind Harvey. “What, oh come on,” he looks up at Harvey. “First you’re treating me like shit, then I drug you and you make out with me, and now you _abuse_ me.”

“You have work to do,” Harvey says. “Come on. You can sleep once you’re done filing those patents.”

“I should keep you drugged up. It makes your personality much more pleasant.” Mike gets up and straightens his clothes.

“My clients don’t choose me because of my personality.”

Harvey walks Mike to the door and once he is gone he collapses back onto the couch. He can still smell Mike’s faint odor in the pillows, and has a lingering taste of beer and something else in his mouth.

It’s not surprising, what happened. He’s know there was something growing between them for a while now, annoyingly persistent though neither of them acted upon it. He knows it was a matter of time, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a little shame, and wonders if this was maybe why he dragged Mike back to his condo.

Harvey isn’t a particularly romantic man. The women he has been with were all no-nonsense types, fond of shenanigans in the dark and not disappointed whenever he forgot a birthday, or an anniversary. He also isn’t a desperate man, so he feels no inclination to phone Mike and ask what prompted the kiss.

Instead he goes to take a shower, trying to forget the entire ordeal, and watches television until it’s time to go to bed.

-

The next morning at work is awkward. And that’s an understatement.

Mike knows he looks like he hasn’t slept all night—because he hasn’t—though he has shaved and is wearing a clean and neat suit. Harvey walks past and doesn’t even look at him.

When he has to ask Harvey something, Donna looks at him a little strangely. He doesn’t know if it’s the way he looks or because Harvey mentioned something. She lets him in though. Harvey doesn’t talk to him the first ten minutes, so Mike waits, first standing up but eventually giving in to his exhaustion and sitting down on the couch.

“Don’t ever drug me again,” Harvey says eventually, barely looking up from his work.

“Don’t worry, it was a once in a lifetime experience.”

He doesn’t dare starting about what else happened last night, mostly because he isn’t sure why he kissed Harvey like that. And Mike might be good at a lot of things, but talking about his feelings isn’t one of them.

Instead he asks what he has to ask, and leaves with the knowledge he needs. When he is back in his cubicle, Greg stops by and tells him, “you could have asked me too.”

“I had to discuss something else with Harvey as well,” Mike tells him, then turns his full attention to his computer screen. Greg hangs around for a while, seemingly waiting for details, but Mike assumes that if he doesn’t pay any attention to him, he’ll leave after a while. And he does.

He doesn’t know how he makes it through the day— he doesn’t get to sleep like Harvey said he would after finishing the paperwork yesterday. Maybe it’s the energy drinks, but he doubts so. Mike feels as though he could fall asleep even with all the caffeine and glucuronolactone in his body.

When he is packing his bag at eight in the evening, because he really deserves to go home before the sun goes down, Rachel stops by his cubicle.

“Before you leave, Harvey wants to see you,” she says, the stack of papers in her arms larger than the one she had been carrying this morning. Mike feels sorry for her. As a paralegal, she certainly doesn’t get lesser work than the associates, but she doesn’t get to sit in on cases the way Mike sometimes does. It makes everything less fun, even if he likes the paperwork. Occasionally.

He doesn’t rub his eyes, but it’s a near thing.

“Please make it short,” Mike says as he walks into Harvey’s office.

“Do you want to go drink something tonight?” Harvey asks him. Mike groans inwardly, because drinks means staying up late, which will mean he is going to be exhausted in the morning—but he can’t say _no_.

“I’m tired,” he says instead. Harvey huffs out a laugh, instantly making Mike feel part-embarrassed and part frustrated, because this man is nothing more but his boss, no matter what yesterday may have looked like. “Seriously though, Harvey, you said I could get some sleep once the paperwork was done. I haven’t slept yet.”

“You’ll sleep better if you have had something to drink.” Harvey leans back in his chair.

“Actually—” Mike starts to say, because no he won’t sleep better after he’s had alcohol, but then Harvey is looking at him a little like he did yesterday. “Oh what the hell. As long as you don’t keep me up all night again.”

Harvey is amused by then, and Mike thinks maybe he could have worded that differently and less sexually, but he really can’t be bothered to care about that right now.

“I have to finish proofing this first,” Harvey tells him, pointing at the small pile of papers in front of him. “Donna has a spare key to my apartment.”

“I thought you wanted to go out?”

“I never said anything about going out, did I?” Mike thinks he might be mistaking but Harvey looks at him rather smugly as he says it. “I thought you rather _liked_ my apartment.”

No, that is _definitely_ smug. Maybe he isn’t even talking about the condo anymore. Mike takes a deep breath when he gets to that thought, the particular memory of Harvey touching him.

“I’ll suppose I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah, Donna’s got the key, did I mention that yet?” Harvey is already looking at his paperwork again and Mike rolls his eyes.

“You did.”

“There’s food in the fridge, in case you get hungry. Beer too, though make sure not to be drunk by the time I get home. I don’t want to deal with drunk-you, can’t imagine it would be pleasant.”

Mike wants to say he is a very pleasant drunk, but he really doesn’t feel much for arguing with his boss versus sort-of-friend versus possibly-potential _something_ right now.

“Bye,” he mumbles, walking out the door. Harvey doesn’t look up, or say anything.

Donna raises an eyebrow when Mike asks for the keys to Harvey’s condo, but she doesn’t press on why he needs them. Then he gets out of the office fast as possible, avoiding possible conversations with Louis, Rachel, and others.

-

The condo is surprisingly quiet when Harvey opens the door. He’d expected music, the noise of the television, or even Mike greeting him but instead of that he gets nothing.

Mike is there for sure—his coat is hanging off the rack, and Harvey doesn’t think he left without it—but he isn’t lounging on the couch or in the kitchen; he can see the light in the bathroom is off. Harvey wanders further into his apartment, and sees the door to his bedroom is half-opened.

Mike lies sprawled across the bed, snoring lightly. He kicked off his shoes, but didn’t bother taking off any of his other clothing. Harvey smiles at the sight, feeling strangely contented at the thought that Mike feels enough at comfort to fall asleep in his bed.

Harvey quietly dresses back into something more comfortable, then puts his hand on Mike’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake.

-

Mike wakes up to see Harvey blocking the light shining from the corridor. He is still sleepy, and can feel Harvey’s breath ghost over his face as he stares at Mike.

“Hey,” Mike says, quietly. Harvey looks softer again, calmer, almost the same way he did yesterday. More open, the sharp edges taken off his face because he isn’t sneering at Louis or trying to amuse a client. It sends a gush of warmth through his body, settling in his chest.

“Sleep well?” Harvey asks and Mike nods, already bringing his hand up to Harvey’s face. He can see how Harvey is looking at his mouth, like yesterday, his eyes closing as he leans in to Mike’s touch. Then the bed dips when Harvey sits down.

“Come here,” Mike breathes, and then they are kissing again. Mike’s got his hands in Harvey’s neck, his hair, mussing it up. Harvey lays down atop of him; their movements are languid and lazy. Harvey uses one hand to keep himself from rolling off Mike. With his other he sometimes touches his cheek and at other times his arm or his side, sometimes skidding a little lower along the line where Mike’s body presses into the sheets to touch his thigh.

Harvey is a good kisser. Of course it’s different than yesterday. Though he assumes Harvey must have liked it, yesterday everything was a little sloppy, and not exactly distinguished, and maybe even a little gross. Even so, Mike has learnt to not judge people when they are under influence of any kind of chemical. And this, now. Now he his movements are deliberate and under full control, and he has Mike writhing a little underneath him in no time.

They don’t have sex. Harvey rolls off Mike when they’re both a bit tired and more than a bit flustered. Mike undresses to his underwear, then crawls under the sheets, where he immediately falls asleep. Harvey follows him not much later.

And if Harvey turns over in the middle of the night, possessively wrapping an arm around Mike’s middle, it’s not as if Mike minds. And if Mike kisses Harvey awake the next morning, after the bright sun woke him up earlier than usual—well, neither does Harvey.

~ 


End file.
